


Never watched porn

by Bumbleberry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Kiss, First Time, Horny Teenagers, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Teenagers, slightly oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumbleberry/pseuds/Bumbleberry
Summary: Castiel has never watched porn. Ever.“So, what are you saying?” Cas presses tentatively because he’s pretty sure he knows exactly what Dean is suggesting.“I’m saying, let’s watch some porn. Educational porn.” Dean gestures loosely to the tv that they’d switched on but was still waiting on the home screen.“Together?”“Sure, it’ll be fun.”
Relationships: Bobby Singer/Mary Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

“Wait, you  _are_ joking right?”

“Well... no.” Cas says, cheeks fighting a steady crimson and eyes skimming the group. Everyone is staring back at him in mirrored disbelief.

“But, you’re nineteen, Cas. You’re a nineteen year old  _guy_ ,” Charlie presses. She’d been the one to dream up this moronic drinking game, and it had seemed innocent enough at the time, everyone had been agreeable. What harm was there in a few drunk questions between friends? Until Jo had gotten a little too comfortable with her vodka lemonades, and hit Cas with the “favourite porn category” question.

“There’s safety software on all the devices in the house, it blocks inappropriate content.” Cas explains feebly. “You’ve all met my parents.”

There’s a rumble of agreement through the group because they  had all met Cas’s parents; pleasant enough but decidedly overbearing.

“Jesus, that’s so fucking funny.” Dean snorts on Castiel’s left at the same time as Victor is sniggering, “His parents blocked all his porn.”

Cas glowers at them, is contemplating leaving the room for a well timed toilet break until they’ve all calmed down, when Anna interrupts with, “Alright guys, shut up, not everyone is constantly horny you know. Cas probably enjoys other things.”

“Hey!” Dean argues, suddenly enough that Cas startles beside him, “Just because Cas  _can’t_ get porn doesn’t mean he isn’t horny.”

“ _Jesus Christ._ ” Cas says mostly to himself.

Jo and Charlie are in stitches across from him, being absolutely no help.

“Look guys, lets just chill out, we can all agree that Cas is super horny at all times-“ Victor starts with placating hands.

“That’s enough, new topic.” Cas announces loudly, giving Dean a sharp elbow when he looks like he’s going to continue. 

And with a great deal of effort, Cas manages to get the game moving again and steered in a safer direction. 

  
It’s hours later, numerous empty glass bottles lined along the walls, that Charlie decides the game is over. The girls are all staying at hers so they trump upstairs after their farewells leaving Cas, Dean and Victor to hunt down their belongings and trudge home. 

Victor calls a goodbye as they split at the crossing and then it’s just them, stumbling along. Castiel’s car is sat patiently in Dean’s driveway as they near, and if he’d been sterner with himself he’d be climbing into it now. 

“Hey, no fucking way are you driving back you hear me.” Dean grips his arm, wags the other finger in his face. “You drank as much as me and I ain’t having you dying in a ditch at midnight.”

“I wasn’t going to drive, Dean, calm down. I already called my parents before we left Charlie’s.” Cas placates. His head  _was_ swimming merrily and they’d been using each other as support the entire walk, tripping over their own feet. He’d been sleeping over at Dean’s house as long as he’d know him, which had easily been a decade, he barely bothered asking anymore. 

“You’ve got to be quiet when we get in alright Dean.” Cas reminds him as he digs around in his back pocket for the spare key. Even blackout drunk Cas tended to have a solid grip on these kind of things, keep an awareness of his surroundings, but Dean, not so much.

Right now Dean’s chuckling loudly, knocking into a plant pot beside the mat. “No we don’t, you idiot.”

“Jesus, Dean shhhh.  _Yes_ we do.”

Castiel has just managed the lock when Dean slaps both palms on his shoulders and twists him so they’re facing. He smells like that strawberry lemonade Jo had sloshed down him, and something else, sweet and warm. 

“Cas.”

“Yes?”

“Where are my parents and brother right now?”

“What?” Cas blinks, baffled by Dean’s amused expression. “They’re upstairs, trying to sleep without you making a-  _oh_.” It strikes him cleanly like a slap, the sudden realisation of his own stupidity. Dean’s family had left nearly a week ago, visiting one of his uncles up in Canada, a trip Dean had begged out of solely because of the flight involved. Cas had literally waved them off at the door. 

“You moron.” Dean squeezes his chin good-naturedly and pulls them both into the house. 

“I’m a  _moron_.” 

“You are, but you’re also drunk so-you want any chips?”

Equipped with food and water they flop into Dean’s room and onto his bed. It’s an age old tradition to splay back against the head board, grapple over the remote for the tv mounted on the wall.

“I still can’t believe they let you have a tv in your room.” Cas sighs, he’s got his legs thrown out across Dean’s lap and is trying to quell the steady swaying in his head.

“You say that literally every time, you know. Besides if you had one in your room, all the porn would be blocked anyway.” 

Castiel barely catches the sly grin thrown his way before his arm swings out to smack Dean in the stomach. It gets blocked easily but his point was made. 

“Don’t you go making fun of me as well, Dean.”

“I’m not making fun. It’s sad more than anything.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Castiel snorts, shoving at the patronising hand Dean tries to pat him with. 

“On a serious note though, Cas. You are a virgin.”

“Wow, I had no idea. Thanks for filling me in-“

“Shut up and listen you doofus,” Dean persists, pulling himself more upright against the headboard and forehead creasing. “So what happens when you meet someone you want to-“

“I know the mechanics of sex, Dean. Are we really having this conversation? Didn’t we both suffer years of sex ed.”

“That’s exactly what I mean Cas, you know the  _mechanics_ , but sex is so much more than just the mechanics.” Dean starts passionately, he always gets himself worked up like this when he’s been drinking, eyes bright and frantic. 

“Dean..”

“Cas, you’re into guys right?” He says encouragingly and Cas gives him an exasperated nod. “Okay, so what happens when a guy wants you to blow him and you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s easy to pick up. A go with the flow type deal.”

“Cas, it’s really isn’t. There is an art to blowjobs.” Dean says seriously, “And then what about actual sex. They didn’t cover anal in sex ed did they?”

“Jesus, Dean.”

“I’m just looking out for you Cas. I don’t want you to have a shitty first time because you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Dean’s still looking slightly pink and flustered from his impassioned rant but his eyes are serious. Once he’s got an idea in his head, he’s stubborn as anything. 

“So, what are you saying?” Cas presses tentatively because he’s pretty sure he knows exactly what Dean is suggesting. 

“I’m saying, let’s watch some porn. Educational porn.” He gestures loosely to the tv that they’d switched on but was still waiting on the home screen.

“Together?”

“Sure, it’ll be fun.” Dean says brightly, already readjusting himself and navigating to the internet search. Castiel is fairly certain that it will  not be fun in the slightest, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious, about porn, about Dean’s godawful plan. 

“This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had, you know.” Cas says as he shifts his legs off of Dean’s and sits beside him instead. This seems alarmingly easy for Dean, he’s slouched comfortably, one knee pulled up, looking as if he’s searching for knitting patterns rather than porn. 

“Let’s do pornhub, it’s a classic. Best place to start.”

“You’re the expert.” 

The tv loads and instantly Castiel is subjected to a variety of vaginas with various things in them and he can’t help the slightly disgusted noise that he makes. Dean glances across at him with a grin, “First time seeing a pussy, huh? Doesn’t do anything for you?”

“Definitely not.”

They aren’t touching but this is decidedly outside what Castiel would call normal platonic activities. Only Dean would manage to work them into a situation like this and yet they’re still best friends. Still the same dumb kids who raced their bikes and fell out of trees and got into fights. There isn’t much they haven’t done together by this point.

Onscreen, Dean has navigated his way across to a tab marked gay, which he clicks. The screen instantly reloads onto men, with other men, doing various male things. They’re only still images but Castiel can’t say that he’s seen all that many naked men before, and it’s  _interesting_. 

Dean scrolls through ‘most popular’ for a minute or so before he selects a video with a title that’s  _graphic,_ to say the least. Both men who appear are lean and muscled with bland faces, but overall pleasant enough to watch. Castiel wishes he could say the same for their acting skills. 

“Is this supposed to be funny?” Cas leans across to murmur.

“All porn acting is shit. It’s just a gateway to the good stuff, gets you warmed up.”

Despite the questionable scenario, the men were now kissing roughly, yanking and pulling on each other’s clothes. EvenCas, who has zero experience with anything of a sexual nature, could tell this was stagnant and rushed. 

“Uh, Dean?” Cas barely whispers it and Dean jerks beside him, covers it up with an awkward stretch. “Can we find another video. One that’s less-“

“Fake? Yeah good plan, let’s hit the amateur section.”

The next video explicitly states that they are a couple, and so Castiel is hoping for chemistry. There’s isn’t a cameraman this time, just a camera filming them in their own bed and it instantly heats Cas through. They’re only kissing but it’s different, the way they move together, pulling apart for breathless whispers. By the time one has rolled on top of the other, Cas is very aware of his breathing. It isn’t laboured, he’s just conscious that he doesn’t want Dean to be able to hear him. 

He takes slow level breaths through his mouth, wonders if his heartbeat is audible.

The tv is groaning quietly in time with the humping onscreen, they’re still clothed, but the dark haired one on top has hoisted his partners legs up and is pushing roughly between them. It hasn’t moved beyond foreplay but the obvious implications of his movements spills warmth in Cas’s belly and moves sticky slow through him like honey. 

There’s the burning urge to glance at Dean and see if he is reacting at all. He’s been pretty immobile beyond a slight foot twitch but Cas wants to see his face. If he’s blushing, if he’s unchanged, if he’s looking back at Cas. 

Cas is just considering how much he’ll need to turn his head to see Dean in his peripheral when Dean speaks suddenly into the stillness. 

“Do guys kiss differently to girls then?” He clears his throat, “I mean it looks different, the uh- the way they’re kissing.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Cas murmurs back, just catching Dean’s head as it jerks to look at him. 

“Wait, you’ve never-“

“I’ve kissed girls before, but never a guy.”

“But you went off with that blonde guy, y’know at Bela’s party.”

“Well yeah but we didn’t kiss. I thought he was going to but he just vomited in the sink.”

“Well shit.” 

Indeed. Clothing is being removed onscreen now, hands reaching between them to fumble with belts. It’s bizarre hearing the low noises they make, because everyone talks about unrealistic pornstar moans but these sound genuine, unforced. Castiel has always been silent whenever he’s jerked off; mostly out of fear of being overheard, but also it’d just felt unnecessary. Obviously things are different with a partner but it’s something he hadn’t considered. 

When he chances a glance at Dean, he isn’t even watching the screen. He’s just staring vacantly at his feet, chewing on his lip and frowning. Cas considers whether everyone is silent when they masturbate and then more vocal with a partner. He can’t imagine Dean being exceptionally noisy, probably just quiet grunts where his breath isn’t catching up. Maybe his hands would spasm though, that happens to Castiel sometimes. It really would be interesting just to see where the differences between them lie. Educational, really. 

“Cas, don’t you think you should’ve kissed a guy by now?” Dean says abruptly.

“What?”

“Well, you should have kissed one. What’s the point of watching porn if you haven’t even kissed a guy yet.” Dean presses, twisting so his torso is facing Cas. “It could be completely different from a girl and you wouldn’t know.”

Something about the intensity in Dean’s gaze is making Cas’s already warm stomach go weak and wheezy .

“It just hasn’t happened, who am I supposed to kiss?” 

Dean’s cheeks shudder with pink and his mouth twitches for the barest moment. 

“Well I don’t know. You’ve just got to take opportunities when they’re there. Like, right now. I’m here. I’m a guy. Then you’d know wouldn’t you.”

“So we should kiss, just to-“

“Just for you to see, yeah.“ 

Dean’s face is closer than usual, but the fact that Cas is being invited even closer, invited to invade his space, makes him breathless. It’s easy to just close his eyes and lean blindly, feeling Dean’s breath and then the soft hit of his mouth. They bump gently and then seem to fit. Dean’s lips are dry and warm, the prickle of his stubble catching when he moves his mouth. Cas feels the inside edge of his lip, the point where his mouth becomes wet and he lets himself get dragged in. 

Compared to a girl, Dean is firmer to kiss, less pliant. He kisses with certainty, confidence perhaps. And it’s only a handful of moments before his tongue is moving boldly into Cas’s mouth, meeting his own. Chest heaving, Cas manages to fist a hand in the front of Dean’s shirt to steady himself. 

Without warning, Dean presses forward until he’s hovering over Cas, the pillow dipping suddenly beside his head when Dean puts a hand there. There’s no weight actually pressing into him but having Dean leaning over him, the thought of him on top makes Cas lightheaded and drunker than the remnants of alcohol in him. There’s crashing white light behind his eyes and his heart hammers. It takes a moment, a shift of his palm, but quite abruptly he’s aware of an equally frantic pound, in Dean’s chest. It could mean a multitude of things; excitement, nerves, but Dean  _is_ affected, by Castiel, by kissing him. 

Delirious heat floods him, is solely responsible for his free hand skating roughly through Dean’s hair, nails drawn through the coarse short strands at the back. Dean kisses him a little harder after that, breathes heavier.

The porno is still rolling and they’ve obviously passed foreplay if the noises are anything to judge by. There’s the rhythmic slap of skin, breathless swearing and it nearly makes Cas flush. Here he is, kissing this boy, all to a background of real life gay sex. It isn’t the same of course, but reality is beginning to blur. He and Dean are friends who happen to be kissing but the sounds, the rising temperature in the room, the intensity of Dean, leaning harder into him, letting quiet noises slip. Everything feels very real. 

A knee shifts to between Cas’s legs, just touching the inside of one of his thighs, lighting matches against his skin. Had Dean’s touches always undone him like this. Unwound him into a frantic creature. 

Dean draws Cas’s tongue into his mouth and then he’s sucking on it, slow and filthy, and Cas can’t even help himself, his fingers catch in Dean’s belt and tug sharply. He’s corybantic like he’s never been before, not with kissing girls, not with himself in the shower. Dean comes lurchingly, under his grip, knee sliding out and hips colliding. There’s a quiet grunt and a moment to adjust himself and then he’s settled, against Castiel. Immediately and obviously he can feel that Dean is hard; a solid unmistakable heat right against his own. Chests pressed, his shudder must slip right out his own body into Dean’s, skim down his spine. 

There’s no one to blame but his own blinding arousal when his knees come up, spread wide so Dean fits against him just like that. Anything for the pleased noise Dean slips into his mouth. The things he’d gladly do in that moment, they race through his head in a breath, every filthy half-thought he’s ever spared in the blazing moment before he’d come. He’s so hard he can’t pull a logical thought from a whim, but then Dean’s hand is slipping down into the crease of his knee, hauling it higher and every thought leaves him. He’s an empty vessel for Dean to do as he pleases. 

“Shit, Cas,” Dean stutters and like that he’s back. Because Dean’s hips make the first tentative push and bliss tightens his thighs. There’s ripe cursing and moaning from the TV and then his very own groan delivered against the side of his mouth, courtesy of Dean, who starts rocking his hips in earnest.

One blissful minute he thinks he’s just overheating in his clothes, struggling for breath, and the next he knows he’s going to come. Dean’s rocking fervently against him, unable to even keep their mouths aligned, just grunting weakly into his neck.It’s impossible to tell what noise is himself, or Dean, or the tv, it’s a heady cacophony all around him, blurring into each other until it all whites out. His spine bows and his fingers turn rigid wherever he’s got them clenched on Dean and he isn’t even in Dean’s bedroom anymore. Suspended in bliss.

The fall back to Earth is slow, as easy as breathing. He’s twitching beneath his wet underwear, pulse steadying as his breath evens. Dean’s atop him, still moving until he abruptly swears and goes rigid. A bare whimper slipping out as his hips jerk like they aren’t his, and his stomach muscles spasm. There’s a thick moment as Dean shivers through the last roll and the pillow holds the shape of his fist once he unclenches it. 

It isn’t awkward yet but Castiel can practically see it approach. The stilted way Dean pulls his head from its rest on Cas’s shoulder and moves off of him. There’s a wet patch in the crotch of his jeans. 

Porn is still playing onscreen and it feels crude suddenly, obscene and Cas averts his eyes almost bashfully. 

“Can you turn off the tv please.”

It takes Dean a minute to process the question, another minute to find his hands, but then he’s rooting around down the side of the bed for the remote, wherever it got kicked in the last fifteen minutes. Re-emerging upright, the tv goes dark and silent. 

Everything feels delicate, frangible, like it’ll fracture under the wrong word. There’s several weighted moments of just sitting rigidly before Castiel wants clean clothes, and water, and snacks, and frankly just to break the tension. With a readying breath he shuffles off the bed, ignoring the twitch of Dean’s legs away from him.

“Do you mind if I borrow sweats?” He aims at where Dean is still unmoved. Cas always borrows sweatpants when he stays over, and he never asks. This feels different though, stilted and new like they don’t quite recognise each other. 

“Uh yeah, sure.” Dean’s voice sounds worn. The same rough edge to it as when he’d groaned into Castiel’s ear. 

Cas doesn’t linger, he unbuckles his belt, dropping his jeans purposefully. There doesn’t seem to be a visible mark on themgiven that they’re dark, his underwear, however, is a different story. They will be unwearable tomorrow, but for now he tucks them under his pile of jeans and finds his favourite pair of Dean’s sweats. The ones he always borrows. He tosses another across to Dean. 

He’s just pulled them up over his hips when there’s a shuffle of sheets and he catches Dean starting to change in his peripheral. It’s so familiar that it almost undoes the tension, restarts the scene as if it were just another night that he was sleeping over, like the hundreds before. Staying up absurdly late watching overrated movies or just lying there ribbing each other about silly easy things. It’s never been stilted between them; even their arguments were uncomplicated, words slipping out butter smooth, too fast and unthought through. This is different, uncertain. 

Everything familiar and homely about Dean’s room is starting to twist and curl into something unknown. The rucked sheets are still warm when he lays down, and there’s a faint scent of sex lingering. It makes his cheeks heat and heart thud with nerves. They’d built forts beneath these very sheets, propped them up with brooms and chairs to create their own hidden den, just for the two of them. And now Cas is watching as Dean prolongs drinking his water and shifting clothes, unwilling to settle beside him. 

“Is this going to be weird now?” Cas murmurs. Sees the way Dean’s shoulders stiffen before he sighs, finally turns towards him.

“Shit, I don’t know. I don’t want it to be weird.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“It already is, Cas.” Dean sighs as he climbs into bed beside him, flicks off the lamp. “Even this feels different, just sleeping here.”

“Do you want me to go? I could sleep in Sam’s room.”

“No, I don’t mean that. I just-“ Dean tips back his head. In the darkness, his hair is framed the palest blue by the moonlight slipping between the blinds. It skims the tip of his nose, his lashes. 

“I don’t want things to change, I like them the way they are. I like you coming round and I like the dumb shit we do. But-“

It goes quiet then, and a few times Cas holds his breath just to check Dean’s breathing is still filling the gaps. There’s an incessant thrumming in his chest but he can’t gather the nerve to actually open his mouth, if he did would he even speak. What would he say. His skin is crawling inside itself with anticipation. 

“Dean I liked kissing you.” He bursts. It sounds crisp in the darkness, the words lingering. God, that had been bold of him. Bravery as he’s never wielded it before. “I liked it more than girls. Not just because you’re a guy, I think mostly because it was you.”

“Oh.”

“But I don’t want things to change either. I don’t want it to be awkward. You’re my best friend, I can’t lose that.”

“You liked kissing me, huh?” Dean says slowly, words curling like he’s smiling.

“Yes, I literally just said that.”

“I liked kissing you too, dunno if you got that.”

“Oh, okay. Right, so-“

“So we like kissing each other.”

Something unfamiliar and extremely pleasant is unfurling high in Castiel’s chest, it’s making him grin and his breath feel light and airy. Dean likes kissing him then.

“So we can carry on being best friends, but maybe y’know  _kiss_ sometimes?”

“Uh yeah, yes, sure, that sounds good.”

“Okay, deal.”

“Don’t say ‘deal’, this ain’t a contract dumbass.”

“Don’t dumbass me.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to sleep, dumbass.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t going to write another chapter, but then I did

Castiel is laid prone in his own bed, just thinking. He’s got one window cracked half open, just enough that he can hear the roar of a fierce breeze. It rushes and then pauses, lets birds and fading sunshine fill the silence, before it’s whirling savagely again. His door has been slamming open and closed with the force of it, but he can’t bring himself to get up to click it shut.

All he can think is how exquisitely easy everything had been before. And how uncertain it is now.

A particular violent gust startles Grace, who’d been settled in a ball on his chest, and she bolts up. It’s a pointed reminder that he’s supposed to be somewhere else right now. The Winchesters had only arrived home yesterday and were already inviting him over for dinner. It’d be sweet if his gut wasn’t churning with nerves. 

Everything they do for him is sweet, right from the very first time Dean had dragged him home, scrawny and long overdue a growth spurt. They’d consistently overwhelmed him with their kindness and eagerness to embrace him as one of their own. The thought makes him sigh. He’s being selfish, and presumptuous. In fact he’s the one actually acting out his fears that things between he and Dean would change.

He’d had a text from Dean, a little over 10 minutes ago, about what time he’d be coming. He hadn’t responded and guilt winds up between his ribs at the thought. 

Mind made up, he snags his keys off the bedside table and he drives the ten minutes to the Winchester household, palms sweating. It’s Mary who greets him at the door, all radiant smiles and a delighted noise as she pulls him down for a hug. 

“My goodness Cas, it’s so good to see you. You can’t have grown.” She fusses at his hair as she leads him through the house, forcibly removing his jacket and tucking it away in a cupboard. 

“It’s been two weeks Mary, and I haven’t gained an inch in years.”

“Never quite did reach that six foot mark, did’ya.” Dean calls jollily from the kitchen, adding on a cheeky wink when Castiel steps in to scowl at him.

“I’m six foot exactly, Dean.”

“Sure you are, stud.”

Dean is stirring one of the many pans arranged on the cooker, unbothered enough to have stayed in his sleep sweatpants and t-shirt. He looks relaxed and comfortable, exactly like he always has and it soothes Castiel’s concerns. Nothing has changed, just like they’d said.

“I  _am_ , Dean. I got measured,” he pauses then and just because everything is normal and he’s feeling bold, he adds, “Besides, you’re just insecure that I got those extra two inches somewhere else.”

There’s a noisy splutter to his right, where Sam is already seated at the table, having coughed water in a dark stain across the tablecloth. He pats himself on the chest as he recovers enough to grin. 

“Aw Dean, you’re insecure?”

“Hey! No, don’t listen to Cas, he’s an idiot. And you-” Dean thrusts his spatula at Castiel, forcefully enough that a splatter hits the floor, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Dean!  _Language_. I won’t have you talking like that in the house.” Mary chides suddenly, appearing from behind Cas and with a stern enough face that Dean makes a bashful apology, before flipping Cas off when she turns her back.

“Boys, boys, boys, and I had such a peaceful vacation without any foul language.”

“Dean’s real sorry, mom. It’s just his insecurity shining thr-“

“I swear to God, Sam!”  
  


The rest of the evening plays out in much the same manner. Bobby joining them as food begins to be dished out, sporting the same ratty baseball cap he’d been wearing the day they’d met. Everything is easy, from the recounted stories of their trip, to Dean savagely defending his fear of planes. Conversation flies, butter smooth, until Mary finally heaves a contented sigh and sits back in her chair to take a sip of wine.

“Enough about us, what did you boys get up to then, with a house all to yourselves?”

Cas’s eyes flick over to Dean unconsciously and so he sees the exact moment Dean stiffens, fork pausing on its way to his mouth and a piece of pasta splats back to his plate.

“Dean stayed over at mine a couple nights the first week,” Cas starts, eager to move past this and onto something new. “We came back here after a night at Charlie’s but that’s all the action it’s seen. No raging house parties unfortunately.”

“I certainly hope not, boy.” Bobby levels faux seriously at him, only the slight twist of his mouth giving him away, but Castiel learnt how to read Bobby eons ago and the pretence is something of a joke between them. 

Unfortunately Dean doesn’t manage the same subtlety. Pink rising along the tops of his cheeks combined with his suspiciously downcast eyes is lending him an air of extreme guilt.

“Dean doesn’t have enough friends for a house party anyway.” Cas deflects easily in an attempt to pull back Dean’s attention.

“ _Excuse me?_ I have the exact same friends as you, Cas, so nice one there. And yeah, only Cas has been round so blame him if anything is broken.”

“We all know a ‘night at Charlie’s’ means getting plastered, Dean. If anyone broke anything, my bet is on you.” Sam sniggers as he pours himself another glass of juice and avoids Dean’s glower.

“As long as you boys looked after each other, and there was no driving, I’m happy.” Mary concedes, looking at both Cas and Dean, who nod seriously.

“Did’ya have to help Dean brush his teeth, Cas? When he’s really wasted he goes all floppy.”

“ _Thank you_ _,_ Sam. I brushed my own teeth actually, and I wasn’t even that wasted so shut up.”

“Does that mean Cas had to carry you to bed and you’re embarrassed now.”

“No! What the hell, shut up! I wasn’t even that drunk.” Dean’s eyes have gone shiny with annoyance and he hasn’t looked at Cas once in the last ten minutes.

“Sam, don’t annoy your brother please. How was Charlie then? We haven’t seen her for a while now.”

Castiel answers since Dean is apparently too distracted to even process the question. He’s used to Sam’s ribbing, usually trades in far more brutal insults, but  that had really irked him. Thrown him off his game. It reduces Dean to pushing the remaining scraps of food around his plate, frowning.

It’s unnerving how quickly Dean’s mood had soured, apparently at just the thought of the night Cas’d spent here. He clears some of the plates away vacantly and practically jolts when Sam catches his elbow.

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to surprise you, think you were zoned out. But I just wanted to ask if you’re coming to the lake with us tomorrow? Bobby and Dean will probably fish but I need someone to keep me company.” Sam pleads, pushing up his eyebrows in the way he’s come to learn usually gets him exactly what he wants.

“Um, I don’t want to impose-“

“Honey, you’d never be imposing, you’re always welcome.” Mary assures him.

“It’s an early start though, if we’re gunna get the best spot.” Bobby grunts across the room and now that Cas looks he can see the fishing gear already lined up by the door.

“That’s fine, Cas can just stay the night in Dean’s room.”

“Stop just assuming what Cas wants, Sammy. Maybe he doesn’t wanna go to the lake or stay over, you ever think of that?” Dean has entered stormily, expression still shuttered behind a scowl. 

“Cas always stays over though.”

“Maybe this time he doesn’t want to.”

“Why? You guys break up or something?”

Dean splutters inelegantly, practically stumbles over his own feet and Cas decides he needs to intervene before this escalates. 

“I’m happy to go to the lakes if Dean doesn’t mind me staying.”

“What? Why would I mind?” He insists breezily, nonchalance undone by his flushed cheeks.

“That’s settled then. And Dean you’re acting real weird tonight.”

“Alright boys that’s enough, it’s getting late and we’ve got an early start.” Mary, ever the peace keeper, pulls Sam in for a kiss on the forehead and hair rustle. They’re all turning to head up the stairs when Mary calls innocently, “Dean, sweetie, can I have a quick word?”

Abandoning a still red faced Dean to his fate, Sam drags Castiel upstairs and into his room to show him some unusual rocks he’d picked up in Canada because they both appreciate things like that. Sam’s surprisingly sweet for a 15 year old, having mostly managed to avoid all the angst and rage that Dean is only recently emerging from. He talks Castiel through the formation of one, eyes bright and hands moving zealously along with his explanations. It’s easy to get caught up in his enthusiasm and even easier to see just why Sam excels in school.

“So, um-“ Sam pauses, having talked through all his rocks, and now looking tentative, “did you and Dean have an argument?”

“No. Well, at least not that I’m aware of.”

“Okay, cool, good. He was just acting so weird about you staying. But you’re best friends, right? You’ll always be.” He’s got this bright childlike assurance in his eyes as if parents never divorce and loved ones never die and Dean and he will be together forever. It crumples something pointed in Castiel’s chest and he can only nod as he bades Sam goodnight. 

It’s an innocent view for a teenager who’s already seen so much upheaval in such a short time. Cas is still lingering on it when he crosses the hall to Dean’s bedroom and sees him sat up on his bed. Dean flicks his eyes up and makes brief awkward fists against his knees.

“My mom asked if we’d fallen out.”

“Mm, Sam asked basically the same thing.”

“What did you say?”

“I said we hadn’t.”

“Same.” Dean pauses for a beat, “We haven’t, right?”

“No.” Cas smiles tentatively, because they haven’t, nothing has changed, just like they’d agreed.

And so they settle down to watch a movie before bed, volume turned low so Mary or Bobby don’t catch them. It’s just some early 00s chick flick type thing that Dean pretends he doesn’t like but always watches. It’s effortless to follow, no complicated subplots and it winds them down for sleep. The heroine is crying in the rain, some dramatic whimsical music following her plight, but Castiel knows this scene too well and his mind slips.

The mantra circling his head has been  _nothing’s changed_. It’s what’s he’s clung to until now. But obviously thing have changed. There is now, supposedly, open permission to kiss each other. All well and good except that the last kiss they’d shared had gotten heated too fast. And sex, even over clothes, is an enormous and very profound change to a platonic friendship. Even thinking about it; that he now knows some of the small noises Dean makes when he’s on the edge and desperate, that he’d touched along Dean’s spine, used the grip to press them together. How quickly Dean had gotten hard. 

It makes him flush and bluster, because of course, the same Dean is sat just beside him. 

Sliding down further against the pillow, just so he isn’t tempted to sneak a look, Cas takes measured breaths and tries to reintegrate himself with the onscreen plot. It’s difficult given how much he is reminded of the last ‘film’ they’d watched together. He nearly startles when he feels Dean slip down in a mirror of his own position.

“I’m kinda tired,” Dean murmurs roughly, “d’you mind if I turn it off or you still watching?”

“You can turn it off, I’ve seen it enough times.”

It’d been the only light in the room, almost too bright and stinging, and now it’s black. There’s the rustle of sheets as they both shuffle under the covers, and then silence settling, pressing in and down. A car passes outside and they both breathe.

“Cas?” Dean whispers.

“Mm.”

“Is the- y’know, the agreement thing, is it still on?”

“The nothing changes agreement?”

“Well yeah, but with the other thing.”

Cas waits for his next breath that doesn’t come. Feels the radiating warmth at his side where Dean is listening for his reply, skin heating.

“If you want it to be, it’s still on.”

“But do you want it to be on.”

“I- yeah. Yeah.”

“Okay.”

It quietens again and Cas almost thinks that Dean has dropped off. If it weren’t for his breathing, too levelled and inaudible for true sleep.

“It just feels weird.” Cas murmurs, and for a long moment there’s nothing until Dean rolls over, smothers a yawn.

“New things always seem weird.”

Maybe it’s the darkness lending him a sense of bravery, overlooking the unsteady pound in his chest, but Cas feels a relative confidence when his fingers move blindly out and touch Dean’s chin. Dean twitches, unsuspecting, surprised, but lets his head be tilted up. 

And then Cas leans over, hovering for a moment just so he can feel how quick Dean’s breaths have become, before they meet. Dean’s mouth is the same warm and pliant touch as before, gentler now, unwilling to push, but lovely all the same.   
  


They kiss for several stretched out moments before Dean’s fingers are carding through the hair behind his ear, using it to angle Cas‘s head so they kiss deeper. It makes him lightheaded and his mouth goes slack, meeting Dean’s kisses messily, fervently. 

The most alarming thing is how quickly he hardens. There’s just something about the wetness of Dean’s mouth and his fingers on his jaw that gets him going, lights him up. Something intimate and almost obscene about their tongues sliding and the soft smacking sounds it makes in the silence. With girls, he’d been concerned about their lipstick smudging, or where to put his hands so he didn’t rub off their makeup or tousle their hair, with Dean- he just wants to ruin him.

The intensity blistering inside his head must be slipping into his kisses because Dean makes the barest whining sound, and puts a palm on Castiel’s stomach. Instantly his abdominals go rigid but Dean’s doesn’t shift, just keeps his hand flat there, as if for balance.

He’s just about to tilt Dean over further, maybe touch a tentative hand to his waist when the bathroom door bangs open, startling Castiel into pulling back. There’s the sound of someone pottering around in there and then it bangs shut again behind them.

Dean makes a breathless noise, almost a wheezy huff of laughter. 

“See, less weird already.” He pants. 

And it’s just dumb enough that Castiel lets out a snort and they’re lapsing into quiet chuckles, a mirror of when they were young enough to get shouted at for being noisy past their bedtimes, and somehow trying to stay quiet was funnier than the actual joke.

Cas is still mostly hard, but the fizzing spell of lust is fading and he’s pretty sleepy once they fall silent. Eyelids drooping and heart slowing. Dean rolls onto his side, just close enough that his nose presses into Cas’s shoulder and his breaths fall damp.

“Night Cas.”

Castiel hums a reply but he’s already mostly under. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean is sleeping peacefully beside him. His mouth parted to let out the barest whistle every other breath. There’s still a pillow crease worked into his cheek from before he’d rolled over to face Castiel and it looks almost like a scar in the half morning light. Dean snuffles and then settles again.  
It isn’t even like he never gets to look at Dean’s face; they have dumb staring competitions and try to make the other laugh, sometimes they shave together, shoulder to shoulder in the mirror. But there’s always a certain distance, a point to which Castiel has to remove himself and objectively view Dean. Rule no.1: no getting lost in your best friend’s eyes.

Besides, when they were really young Dean had gotten all bashful and gruff whenever Castiel had stared, and so that habit had mostly been nipped in the bud. He looks now though, uninhibited. The sun warmed weather has browned Dean’s skin, brought out faint freckles across his nose and shoulders. They’re all the same features Castiel remembers arguing and laughing with as children, but with age they’ve lost the infant softness. His jaw is solid now, rough with burgeoning stubble. It’s funny to suddenly acknowledge that your best friend has become a man, still carrying a certain boyishness to him, but a man nonetheless. So has Castiel, of course, but he hasn’t watched himself mature in the same way.

It’s still early; too early, really, to be reminiscing and trying to quantify the enormity of Dean’s influence over his life. The sheets are body-warm, tempting him back. To a place where he doesn’t have to think of anything at all. He’s just drinking in the last moments of freckled skin when Dean’s hand moves across the space between them. He’s still asleep, eyes flickering restlessly and mouth slack, but his fist closes in the front of Castiel’s t-shirt (Dean’s, borrowed) and tugs. Not hard, just bringing them close enough that Dean’s knee can bump his. Castiel falls back to sleep just like that, shirt pulled taut in Dean’s grip and legs touching.

-

The fishing trip is nice. Beyond nice really, it makes Castiel wish that his family could actually tolerate each other enough for an outing. It’s an hour drive, but he’s got Sam on one side and Dean on the other, arguing over his head, just for Bobby to twist around in the front and tell them all to  _shuddup_ . It’s promising to be hot enough that Mary lines them all up to slather sunscreen across exposed skin. It makes Dean grumble, as if he isn’t the one who’ll be cherry pink along the tops of his cheeks by the evening, but he’s an  _adult_ now apparently.

“Do you ever shut up?” Sam ribs when Mary has disappeared to help unload the car. “Cas is older than you and he doesn’t whinge as much.”

“Six months, Sam,  _six months_. That barely counts as older.”

“Says the giant man baby.”

Dean charges at him and he darts behind Cas with a squeal, leaving Castiel to bemusedly serve as a barrier between them, only objecting when Dean tries to muscle him out the way. They scrabble until Cas manages to knock Dean’s legs out from under him and they all go down in a pile.

“What the hell d’ya think you’re doing.” Bobby hollers as he passes. “We’re going fishing not playing human jenga, Jesus.”

Sam clambers off from where he’d been pinning Castiel’s arm, pausing to slap Dean across the forehead before racing after Bobby.

“That little shit.” Dean grumbles, trying to righten himself beneath Castiel, who’d been frozen but is spurred into abrupt action. They bump chests awkwardly as he heaves Dean to his feet and it’s only when Dean stares that he realises he hasn’t released his hand.

There’s a faint sheen of fresh sunscreen across Dean’s forehead, pink on one side where Sam had smacked him. His eyelashes have turned almost white in the sun and he’s looking at Castiel’s mouth.

“You boys coming?” Mary calls suddenly. She’s swinging a picnic basket and Dean darts forward to take it from her. Ripping his hand so abruptly from Castiel’s that it almost stings.

“Cas?”

Castiel pulls his face into a taut smile and jogs forward to fall in along Mary’s free side. Ignores that he can see straight over her head to where Dean pointedly isn’t looking his way. 

Castiel isn’t all that surprised, he’d hardly expected Dean to outright announce to his family that he and Castiel were now kissing on occasion. It still kind of hurts though. The ferocity with which Dean had torn away from him. 

It’s enough that he lets Dean slink away when they reach where Bobby is setting up the fishing gear; doesn’t whine and tug on his sleeve, lip pouted out petulantly, like he would’ve normally. Instead Castiel goes to Sam, trying to flatten out a picnic blanket. Sam smiles brightly when he sees Cas approach, eager for a partner to wander the woods with. There’s a trail that loops around the lake in a jagged oval, but if they meander enough they can drag it out for a half hour, by which time everyone will be settling for lunch.

Castiel would feel bad for abandoning Mary in the fishing zone but she’d been splayed out, pleasantly soaking in the sun. Besides, Sam seems extremely keen to be regaled with tales of Dean’s Top 10 Most Embarrassing Moments.

Castiel is Dean’s best friend, first and foremost, but he would be lying if he said he hadn’t developed an independent friendship with the younger Winchester. Sam was kind and scathing in equal measures. Unequivocally smart and with enough shared ‘nerdy’ interests that they had quickly become close.

They’ll be moments, speaking with Sam, where he won’t see the blood relation between him and Dean. Other times Sam will pull an expression or say a phrase that is so utterly and entirely Dean, that it’s impossible to miss. There’s the same jaw and the height they share, but they are entirely unique. Not that Castiel bares any similarity to his own siblings, but it’s still amusing to see how they differ.

Sam is intently discussing whether fish truly can’t feel the pain of being hooked, undeterred by Castiel’s lack of response. The sensory system of fish, pain response, their emotional capacity. If Dean were listening he’d snort, cuff Sam over the head for overthinking as usual. Dean would argue for pragmatism, that they’re only hooked for moments and their death is quick, probably delving into fish as a food source and the benefits of hook and line fishing over trawlers. Castiel loves it when Dean gets into a debate. The fervent warmth that enters his eyes, how exaggerated his hands become. When he talks so rapidly that he’s almost stumbling words, licking his lips in an attempt to ease their passage.

“Cas?” Sam interrupts loudly. The brashness people take on when they’ve already repeated themselves several times.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“You’re really zoned out, you alright?”

“Just thinking, but I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

“It’s just some dumb stuff about fish, it doesn’t matter.” He pauses, looks sideways at Castiel like he isn’t sure how to word himself, “You’ve been kinda out of it the last few days” 

Castiel begins to apologise again when Sam hurries to correct himself, “I didn’t mean like that. Just like- I dunno, are you worried about something? I love Dean but he can be such an ass, if he’s done something-“

“No no! He hasn’t done anything, it’s just-“ For the life of him, Castiel can’t think  _what_ , exactly, it just is. This  _thing_ isn’t Dean’s fault, it isn’t anyone’s fault really. But it also isn’t something that he can confide to Sam. 

Maybe Sam knows he’s lying when he credits stress and family drama for his absent mood, his eyes certainly go wide and sad but that’s just Sam’s empathy face. Regardless he doesn’t press the matter, lets Castiel pull them to a new topic. Something light and airy that doesn’t hurt to think about. 

They wander back and settle down for lunch and it’s easy again. Dean has either been calmed into a good mood by the fishing or is putting on an impressive ruse, regardless he’s merry and loud beside Castiel. This yo-yoing between absolute normality and then abrupt awkwardness is difficult to follow but he sure as hell isn’t going to ruin Dean’s mood by commenting on it.

With the sun at its peak, heating them to the bone, there wasn’t much to be done beyond taking a dip. Bobby and Mary have speared a parasol upright into the earth and are sheltering beneath it, pale feet poking out, exposed, but Sam is insisting all the teenagers paddle.

“Cas and I are adults, Sam.”

“You’re nine _teen_ , still a teenager.” He bickers back.

No one had thought ahead to bring swimwear and so they have to make do with rolling their shorts to mid thigh. At Sam’s knees his skin jumps from deep tan to a pasty white, courtesy of his time in football shorts. It’s a point that Dean teases him for mercilessly. The tops of Dean’s own thighs are paler than the rest of him, not as stark a contrast as his brother’s but still noticeable. It makes the muscle in his thighs sharper as he wades out into the water and they tense.

“Shit, fuck fuck that’s cold.” Dean jerks, hopping up and down awkwardly, despite only being submerged up to the knee.

“Dean! Watch out, behind you!” Cas shouts suddenly, fully aware that there is nothing behind Dean whatsoever. It proves to be entirely worth it, just to see him spin around frantically and almost topple over himself as he tries to scrabble out the water. Sam is still howling with laughter beside him, when Dean grabs Cas bodily around the waist and attempts to drag him in. But he was either seriously underestimating Castiel’s weight or his wet hands couldn’t find enough purchase, because they’re barely beyond ankle height water when Dean drops him, managing to then stumble over Castiel’s legs and fall down, himself, with a splash.

Sam is laughing hysterically enough that even Bobby sits up enough to see what they’re doing with an unimpressed grunt. 

Dean has just pulled his head up, sopping hair flat on his forehead and dripping into his eyes when Castiel splashes him. Sam leaps in to join them, windmilling his arms across the surface to send a steady stream in all directions but squealing when he gets splashed in return. They should probably have taken their shirts off before so they’d have something dry to change into but the thought only occurs to them when they’re stood there, panting, with it plastered to their skin.

Sam is the first out, attempting to barter for the towel Mary is lying on and unwilling to relinquish. Castiel finds himself staying in the water though. He’s caught on the way Dean’s white shirt is stuck to his stomach, taut across his abdomen, rising and falling with the muscle there. There’s the bulk of his chest, where his nipples stand up starkly with the chill. Dark against the rest of his skin. Dean’s throat bobs and his shifts on his feet, their eyes finally catching. Castiel’s skin is pebbled against the cold, he’s practically shivering with it, but warmth still churns thickly in his gut at that look. Still manages to heat him through.

Dean’s breathing through his mouth and watching him right back, unabashedly. His eyes linger on Castiel’s chest, trail down slowly enough that it’s an effort to keep still. Castiel is hyper aware of his wet clothes; where they stick to his skin or hang heavy, how his hair looks- probably flattened with water, how high he’d rolled his shorts. In that moment, he could combust.

Dean licks his lips, almost absently, and then he’s looking back at Castiel’s face. There’s something practically unrecognisable moving through his features and then his gaze shifts to over Castiel’s shoulder and he clears his throat. Cas turns and Sam is looking at them oddly. “What’re you still doing in there, it’s freezing. Come on, we gotta repack and get back.”

Mary makes them all strip out of their wet shirts but Dean downright refuses to lose the shorts and so she has them sit on a towel in the back. Sam starts snoring 10 minutes into the drive but Castiel would find it impossible to sleep with Dean’s bare shoulder against his. He’s pulled his legs in tightly so they don’t touch, but there’s only so much space for three practically grown men- two and a half- and so each corner sends him knocking into Dean’s warm skin.

Despite the frequent sunscreen applications, the tops of Dean’s cheeks are turning pink and his freckles have darkened, spread a little down his nose. Last summer when they’d spent weeks working together outside, Dean’s shoulders and chest had freckled, standing out starkly on his tanned skin. They’ve mostly faded now but a few shirtless days in the sun would revive them. Dean catches him looking and his cheeks rosy up, visible even beneath the sunburn. 

Eventually, Bobby pulls them up outside Castiel’s house, and Cas is just thanking them for the trip when he spots the car in the driveway. Dean must see it at the same time because he swears under his breath as he unbuckles to let Cas out. It’s an ugly thing, a blue/grey/green colour depending on the light and with a hefty dent in the back where it’s clearly been reversed into something solid. What it does mean, is that Castiel is in for a rough evening.

“Hey mom.” Dean has rounded the car and is speaking to Mary through the passenger window, “D’you mind if I go to Cas’s now, I’ll either walk back later or just stay the night.”

Castiel opens his mouth for the beginnings of a protest but Dean gives him a stern look that cuts it off. Dean isn’t going to leave him alone to deal with Gordon, and that’s final, the look says. Gordon is two years older and mutual friends with Castiel’s brother. He isn’t around often but when he is, Castiel tries not to be home. Gordon’s just your average asshole but he finds Castiel no-conflict stance delightful to toy with, conversely Dean has a very conflict heavy stance that he’s always keen to introduce if Castiel would give him the chance.

Castiel isn’t letting tonight be that night but it doesn’t deter Dean from giving his mother his most pleading expression. Ever agreeable, Mary is happy, as long as Dean won’t be walking back very late at night, which Castiel assures her he won’t. But as the car pulls away, he catches Dean’s arm. “Dean I appreciate your concern but-“

“Look Cas, we can just chill in your room for a bit until he goes, then I’ll head off. But if he’s staying, I’m staying, alright.”

“But-“

“No buts. He’s an asshole, and he’s got a weird thing about you that I don’t like so-“ Dean starts walking ahead to the house and Castiel follows after a sigh. Cursing the stubbornness of Winchesters.

Castiel’s parents both work weekends and so the house is deserted beyond some noise from upstairs and Grace, who butts her head against his shin when they enter. Dean steps pointedly around her, hand going instinctively for his nose. She’s supposedly hypoallergenic and Dean has never had a reaction to her but he plays it up anyway.

Typically they’d take up the living room couch and binge some Netflix but with the chance of being interrupted, it’s a unanimous decision to head for Castiel’s room. The entire third floor of the house has essentially become Castiel’s since Hannah and Michael had left home. The space and privacy it affords is something he’s eternally grateful for, but today he finds himself cursing the fact that getting to the stairs involves passing Luke’s bedroom. The bedroom rumbling with noise and harbouring just the person they’re hoping to avoid.

Dean purses his lips in thought, eyes narrowing into his  _I have a plan_ face. There’s a moment for a brief hand signal that Castiel doesn’t remotely understand, beyond that Dean clearly watches too many spy movies, and then he’s grabbing Castiel’s wrist and tugging him down the hallway. They speed tiptoe to the halfway point of his parent’s bedroom and take refuge.

The music making Luke’s door vibrate is bass heavy enough that they won’t be heard but Dean still lowers his voice to whisper, “Damn, people still listen to this shit?”

“There’s no accounting for taste.” Castiel murmurs back, head poked out to scan the last few meters to the staircase.

“Final push, Cas. Feeling brave?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

They re-emerge and clamber up the staircase to safety with as much grace as one can manage when stifling laughter and nearly slipping back down in their urgency.

“Phew, nothing like Gordon to get the adrenaline pumping, eh?” Dean pants theatrically, hands on his knees, only once they’re made it to the landing outside Castiel’s room.

“Amen to that. What if he’s here for hours though?”

“We can watch a movie on your laptop, play cards or something if we get really desperate.”

“Do I look like I’ve ever played cards, Dean.” Castiel huffs as he leads them into his room. Typically, if he knows Dean is coming over, he’ll have cleared up the clothes he’d got across the floor but there isn’t much that can be done now beyond kicking a path clear.

“I’d teach you, it’s dead easy.” Dean continues and then snorts suddenly, “If anyone who’s ever said you have a stick up your ass saw your room right now, they’d lose their shit.” He flicks a sock aside, making a face.

“I don’t enjoy it being messy, it just gets that way. I would’ve cleared if I’d known you’d be in here.”

“You ever heard of a laundry hamper, Cas? They’re these things you use to put your dirty-“ he cuts off when Castiel socks him in the shoulder. His bare shoulder, because both of their wet shirts are still bundled into a bag in the back of Bobby’s car. He’ll have to remember to collect his next time he’s round, but for now he pulls two t-shirts from his drawers and offers one to Dean. They’re practically the same size. If he’s being pedantic, Dean’s shoulders are a little broader, but they’ve been swapping clothes long enough that Dean’s sampled most of his wardrobe by now.

“Can I borrow some sweats too, my shorts stink of lake.”

“So do you! Just have a shower before you stink up my whole bedroom.”

“You smell as bad as me.” Dean argues, all indignant.

“So I’ll shower after, it’s not like we have anything better to do.”

They take turns in the bathroom, both conscious that there’s no real rush and they’re unlikely to be bothered by Gordon now. 

Castiel washes the stiffness from his hair, loses the lingering stickiness of sunscreen on his skin. Let’s his mind sway hazily to Dean’s wet t-shirt earlier. How dark his eyes had gone when he’d followed down Castiel’s body. He has no idea what it means. To play best friends all day, but spend several weighted moments checking each other out. It’s too much to think about, to try and fathom all at once.

He heads back to his bedroom, damp hair stuck up awkwardly; resolved and ready to try to navigate whatever this thing is they’ve got going. Right up until he spots Dean, under the covers in his bed. Asleep. He’s sprawled across the side closest to the wall, face slack. 

It’s still only early evening, Castiel even checks his bedside clock to be certain, and so there’s absolutely no reason for Dean to be asleep. They’d stayed up late the night before, but they always do. Castiel had been relying on Dean to keep him amused, and would now have to self-suffice until it was an actually appropriate time to go to sleep.

Disgruntled, he starts a season of a new show he’d been meaning to watch on Netflix. Technically he and Dean had agreed to watch it together, but it wasn’t his fault that Dean had passed out and left him alone, with nothing else to stave off his boredom. It’s actually very gripping, Dean would definitely enjoy it, were he conscious. Again, his own fault.

It’s justifiably dark outside by the time Castiel relents and decides that this will be the last episode. Besides, he doesn’t want to watch too far ahead that Dean won’t be able to catch up, when he finally gets around to it.

There’s only another 10 minutes left of the episode when Dean first begins to shift beside him. Initially Castiel thinks he’s woken up but his eyes stay firmly shut and he’s apparently just dreaming. His mouth fluttering a little as he rolls onto his stomach and grunts.

It takes another couple of minutes for Castiel to ascertain exactly what kind of dream Dean is having. He’s been making vague sleepy noises that Castiel’s mostly been ignoring but then his face creases and he lets out a decided groan. It’s obvious enough that Castiel actually pauses his show and takes out his earphones to check he heard correctly. But Dean’s just back to murmuring something nonsensical to the pillow. 

Colour is building steadily in his cheeks, and his hips actually push once into the mattress. Breaths coming a little harsh.

Watching this all with uncertainty, Castiel finds his skin is rising hot and flushed. He’s seen Dean like this before, but never so uninhibited. Of course he should intervene, wake Dean up. Or perhaps leave him be, hope that the dream redirects itself. Surely Dean’ll be embarrassed if he’s startled awake, but no more than if he wakes to a mess he’s made in Castiel’s bed.

“Dean?” Castiel murmurs, but he just gets an uninterested grumble in response. He tries again a little louder, more urgent. Squeezes Dean’s shoulder this time. 

What he is absolutely not expecting, is the abruptness with which Dean jerks up and catches his wrist. Blinks vacantly.

“It’s just me, just me! I’m sorry, you were drea-“

“Cas?” Dean’s eyes finally settle on his, and they’re dark and hazy with sleep, heavy-lidded.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Cas has barely confirmed, when Dean’s hand slides around the back of his neck, hauling him in with the agility of a drunkard. Their mouths crash together, and there’s a beat of almost pain where Dean’s teeth hit his lip, before he’s being roughly kissed. Mouths sliding and half breaths sucked into the gaps. Dean’s skin is sleep-warm, almost too hot beneath his palms when he brings up his hand to hold Dean’s face like an anchor.

There’s a barely contained desperation to Dean’s movements, like he’s hardly holding himself back. It blinds Castiel, being wanted so urgently. He’s never known it. How flushed and pleased and breathless it makes him. How rabidly his heart jackhammers in his chest and his cock swells. Giddy with pleasure.

Dean seems further gone than Castiel had thought, already panting into his mouth unsteadily. Wound up and charged. He isn’t doing much more than gripping Castiel’s neck to keep him close enough to kiss, thumbs pressing behind his ears. Nails dragging.

“Cas, I was- in my dream, you, you were-“ Dean gasps it right into the heat of his mouth, where his breathing has gone so ragged that they aren’t even properly kissing. In the bare moment it takes to process, Cas’s arms are fuzzy, warm with a sudden static. Dean dreamed about him. About them. Together.

“Dean, what was I doing?” Cas murmurs back but all he gets is a broken whine against his mouth. He’s hit with a sudden exhilaration, a sudden certainty in himself. It’s firing white-hot in his veins as he slips his hand under the covers and cups Dean’s cock through his sweatpants. Jolting with surprise, Dean’s own hand shoots down to press Cas’s palm harder, tighter, against him. Lets out a low groan.

Meanwhile, Cas’s heart is intent on tearing straight out of his chest because he is  _touching_ Dean, finally. He’s felt Dean hard against his stomach, seen a flash of morning wood before. Never felt him rigid and molten hot with want, twitching a little against his palm, a warm patch of damp where his sweatpants have been rubbing. He feels delirious with it, heady and suffocating. Can’t help but give it a slow squeeze before Dean locks up stiff. Breaks off his quiet groans with a “ _fuck_ ” that drags it’s nails up Castiel’s spine. He feels the too-hot wet patch that spreads over Dean’s sweatpants, imagine the dark pearly sheen of it in the light.

“Shit.” Dean rumbles in a different voice. A clearer voice now. Beginning to cloud with embarrassment. “M’sorry, that was um- I was kinda- y’know.” He clears his throat and extracts himself from under the covers. Crab walks, holding the wet crotch of his sweatpants away from him, right out of Castiel’s room.

Shock prickles in Castiel’s chest, something he can’t settle on whilst he’s still hard, heart racing in his own bed. Where Dean had left him. Clearly they were not on the same page, the same book even, it seemed. Because what the hell is Castiel supposed to do now?

Upset hardens into annoyance, and Castiel shoves himself roughly off of the bed. He’s hit with a blinding urge to do  _something_ , rather than just sit and wait dumbly for whatever Dean is doing, whether Dean even cares enough to come back. He can walk home alone for all Castiel cares. In fact, if Dean does come back into Castiel’s room, he can sleep alone and Castiel will sleep in one of his sibling’s rooms. That decided, Castiel turns away and starts rooting through his drawers for clothes to take next door.

His back is still to the door when it reopens and he tries not to visibly tense. Obviously he’s pissed, and if Dean asks what he’s doing or where he’s going, he’ll tell him in no uncertain terms. The door clicks shut and for a brief furious moment, he thinks Dean has left again, but then there are slow footsteps behind him. Resuming his hunt through the sock drawer, Castiel pays Dean absolutely no regard, looking intently absorbed in what he’s doing. It’s only when fingers touch his waist uncertainty that he freezes. They skim and then settle a little more firmly as Dean comes up closer behind him. Bumps his nose against the back of Castiel’s head.

“Are you still-?” Dean mumbles into his hair, and Castiel is about to twist his head around because he’s had enough of Dean’s confusing half questions, when a palm leaves his hip to skim the tent in his sweatpants. It had flagged under the weight of his irritation but it bobs right back up, arching into Dean’s grazing touch almost pitifully.

Cas’s breathing falls irregular, jagged little puffs when his lungs remember how to work. In and out. Rise and fall. 

Dean’s fingers tickle as they brush along his waistband. 

His hand starts to slip inside in the same breath that he hooks his chin over Cas’s shoulder to watch.

To his credit Castiel barely jolts when Dean closes a firm hand around him. Internally it’s a sucker punch. Knocks the breath and logical thought from him in one fell swoop. And  _then_ he starts stroking. Now, either Castiel was leaking like a pipe down there or Dean had found something to slick his fist with in the bathroom because there’s no way he could be jerking him so tight and smooth. There’s nothing tentative or uncertain; Dean’s actually going so fast that Castiel’s knees start to quiver and he has to slap a hand down on his drawers to keep himself up. 

He’s desperately trying to keep the noises slipping out to a minimum, but heat is spilling and burning through him dangerously fast and it’s difficult to maintain the focus to keep his mouth shut. He also has Dean murmuring ragged things in his ear like “Fuck Cas, come on” and “Shit, you’re so hard” that are undoing him even faster.

Dean’s chest is a furnace behind him; at once pushing him harder into Dean’s fist and pulling him back on his heels. Maybe he should be embarrassed at how quickly he’s being dragged to the edge, but Dean is ruthless with the slick wet sounds he’s beating into the quiet. Cas never brings himself over this fast when it’s just him, but there’s something frenetic in Dean that renders him wrecked.

Cas can’t even help but fuck into it a little, especially when the movement rocks him back against Dean and he leaves off the mark he’s sucking into Cas’s neck to rumble, “harder, Cas, come on. Getting yourself so wet, you’re so fucking close. You wanna come, huh? Wanna come on my fist?”

And fuck if that doesn’t tip him over. Send him hurtling into a blinding white-out that nearly takes out his legs. It’s only Dean’s arm around his chest that keeps him up as he throbs and spills, head lolled back on Dean’s shoulder as he draws his first shaky breath. He jerks weakly as Dean doesn’t let up and manages to manipulate a limp hand into pushing him off.   
  


Wobbling on his feet, Castiel lets Dean pull his hand free, and steps out of his arms to face him. He’s pink cheeked, and wearing an expression that half smug, half sheepish. In the bathroom he must’ve changed into a clean pair of sweatpants, and it’s as Castiel notices this that he sees the way Dean is rolling his right wrist, the one that’s wet and shiny with his come. 

“Man, you look so fucked out, Cas.” Dean breathes, eyes a little glassy but a decidedly pleased aura about him. It makes Castiel blush, even after what has just transpired. 

“I thought, when you left, that you were going. Like properly going home.”

Dean makes a bashful face and scrubs his clean hand through his hair, “Would’ve been a bit of a dick move if I’d just left. I was just uh- embarrassed I guess. Didn’t really take much to push me over, y’know.”

“Dean, you were literally midway through a sex dream. If I hadn’t woken you, you would’ve come in my bed. Obviously you were already worked up.”

“Yeah, I know. I just didn’t want you to think I was-“ Dean fishes about for a word, hand still held awkwardly so he doesn’t drip on the floor. It’s so ridiculous it makes a chuckle bubble in Castiel’s chest.

“Dean, I was never worried about your stamina. Please go wash your hand though, and I need to change.”

Castiel’s still thinking about the easy way Dean had rolled his eyes as he’d left, when he pulls on clean clothes. He’d been loose and relaxed, hadn’t lost the content smile turning up the corners of his mouth. The only concern on Castiel’s mind is the alarming number of clothes they’re getting through at the moment, if it’s spread between houses though, hopefully no one will catch on. 

Later, when Castiel falls asleep, Dean’s knees are tucked up behind his and there’s an arm thrown over his middle. They match breaths in the quiet until Castiel loses track of who’s breath is who’s and slips under. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s entirely unintentional that every chapter ends with them going to sleep, guess they just exhausted themselves :)


	4. Chapter 4

Dean is sprawled across Castiel’s sofa, laptop balanced on his chest and feet kicked up onto the armrest.

“Do you mind?” Cas says pointedly, poking at Dean’s shin; gently at first, and then much harder when he doesn’t get a response.

“Mm?”

“Dean, move your goddamn legs.”

With a theatrical sigh, one is shifted off onto the floor and the other pulled up. It doesn’t actually free up all that much room but Castiel is used to fitting around Dean, filling the spaces he leaves, and if he’s being honest with himself he’s more than comfortable pressed up against him. 

With a little manoeuvring, he fits himself in so one of his knees sits between Dean’s and his head lolls back on the arm rest. Unlike Dean, Castiel had actually done his project the night it had been assigned, leaving him free now to switch on the tv; though muting it with subtitles because he’s an angel and doesn’t want to break Dean’s rare show of focus.

Deliberately, he works at keeping his fidgeting to a minimum but he eventually caves and stretches his calves across the leg Dean’s got hanging off the sofa.He’s expecting to be shoved off, but beyond a half hearted swat, Dean permits it. He’s too caught up in his work, his focus not even stuttering when Castiel snorts a noisy laugh at the tv, only rising from his laptop to double check a spelling or confirm a date.

In fact, Castiel is three episodes into a trashy rerun, when Dean finally flicks the lid shut and stirs. Grinds the heel of his palm into one eye absently. 

“You powered through that, Dean. It was almost scary.”

“Huh, yea- it was actually sorta interesting when you got into it. And I’d already written up notes on it, just had to type ‘em out,” He pauses to squint at the tv, eyes flicking down to follow the subtitles for a moment, “The fuck are you watching?”

“Oh it’s some hospital drama. Maria Kosovka is about to have her leg amputated.”

“Damn, good luck to her.”

“She doesn’t make it.” Cas informs him blandly, pulling his head up from the armrest and rubbing at his neck.

“Spoilers, Cas. I was just getting invested in Maria Kos- Kosa y’know. And Jesus, don’t sit like that, you’ll fuck up your spine.”

“My spine’s fine, Dean, besides you used to love giving me neck rubs.” He says it casually but still tilts his head just to watch Dean’s cheeks turn red. 

Dean’s mouth spends a moment flopping open and closed before he scowls and shoves at Cas’ foot. “I didn’t  love giving you them, asshole, I was just genuinely concerned for your neck, and you know what, it happened like twice so shut up.”

“It happened at least weekly.” And Castiel would remember, the shy way Dean would offer and how he’d bashfully accept and they’d both be so awkward about it but it would keep happening. He’d actually jerked off thinking about it more than once when he was younger, Dean’s fingers pushing into his skin, the warm presence at his back, how Dean would lean into him.

“Whatever, it was years ago. Mock my innate caretaking nature why don’t you.” But Dean is suppressing a smile and only pokes a sniggering Cas in the belly once. 

When they’ve sobered up again, Cas gives him a considering look, “I genuinely will take a neck rub if you’re offering.”

Dean glances at him twice before he realises he’s serious. “Oh, really? Uh- yeah, yeah can do, if you turn around.” Dean flushes so easily it’s hard to tell precisely what sets him off, but he’s got a simmer of colour persisting and his eyes flick away as Castiel readjusts so he’s leant back against Dean’s pulled up knee. 

He’s patient as Dean sits upright and then shuffles about, before placing his palms gingerly on Castiel’s shoulders. They’re broader now, filled out with muscle, and he’s no longer the timid child afraid of getting too close to his best friend.

“This used to be so fucking awkward.” He snorts as Dean starts to massage gently. Dean’s always been good at this, firm but careful pressure, finding knots Cas didn’t know he had.

“Tell me about it. Of all the dumb shit we did-“

But there’d been something too intimate about it before, when they were still walking the line of an intense friendship, something that had felt like crossing a minefield blindfolded. 

Now he closes his eyes willingly and leans into the almost-pain bliss of it. He’s always liked Dean’s small touches, the companionable ones, the comforting ones, anything that meant Dean was there, beside him.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, champ.” Dean mumbles warningly but there’s a smile curling his words. It unsticks something in Castiel’s mind and he pauses to hum over the wording before opening his mouth.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“What were you dreaming about the other night? When we- when you said you’d dreamt something about me.”

It’s silent but he can tell the exact moment Dean cottons on to what he’s asking because his fingers go rigid.

“I don’t- I don’t uh... when? When’s this?”

“When you stayed round because Gordon was here. You fell asleep early.” Castiel prompts. Dean has resumed massaging but he’s unfocused now, missing the muscle. “I don’t care what it is, I’m just curious.”

“Cas, that’s- I’m not just  _gunna_ say. It’s private.”

At that, Cas frowns and twists between Dean’s knees to squint at him. He’s got a spectacular blush from his cheeks to his ears that’s lighting up his freckles, but he’s glaring right back.

“It happened  _in my bed_ . I woke you up and you literally grabbed-“ Cas is interrupted by Dean squawking embarrassedly and flapping his hands.

“I’m not fucking saying Cas, it’s none of your business. What, we hook up a couple times and suddenly I’m spilling all my darkest secrets?” Dean bursts back, hackles risen and eyes shiny.

“That’s not what I’m saying, I’m just-“

“Well, don’t. I need to head back,” and he sweeps off the sofa, unfolding himself from behind Cas and leaving a cold hollow in his wake. He’s already at the door frame when he pauses and half turns back. “We’re going to Bela’s party tomorrow by the way.”

“Wait, I thought we weren’t going.” Cas says confusedly as he hurries after Dean on his way to the door.

“Yeah well, Charlie’s decided she wants us all to go now.”

“But Charlie hates Bela. Like  _hates_ .”

“So? Take it up with her, I’ll see you tomorrow.” The door lands heavy behind him and Cas just stares at the faded wood for a long moment. His words playing on rewind through his head. Had he pushed too hard? He certainly hadn’t expected Dean’s volatile reaction from one question. And they were suddenly going to Bela’s party?

Cas pulls out his phone to message Charlie and then mulls over the Dean situation some more as he waits for a reply. Dean isn’t one to storm off if he’s upset, at least not without a lengthy argument first. He’s always got a response, something mouthy and biting as he closes himself off, but he doesn’t run, he sticks it out. Except today.

His phone buzzes with Charlie’s response. 

- _Sorry it was kinda last minute!!! Obvs I dislike her immensely buttttt gilda is going and she asked if I was going and ofc I said YES!! This might be my shot and so I need my boys for moral support and maybe a little wingman action ;)_

Cas managed to huff a laugh even through his spasming thoughts, because of course there’s a girl involved. Charlie has been mooning over Gilda for weeks now, he should have guessed. It does leave him in a precarious position though. 

All evening he worries about it. Overthinks and rewinds and backtracks until he’s a spinning heaving mess. Of course it must be his fault that Dean got annoyed. But then perhaps Dean was too quick to blow up. And maybe he’s misremembering the exact way he said something, his tone or expression even. It’s a huge quivering question mark that he can’t make any sense of. And then Charlie messages him.

- _So turns out dean’s just gunna go with benny and victor instead and we’ll just meet him there. BUT DONT DESPAIR!! Bc you’ll still have me and anna and jo! So come round mine about 8 and bring drink xxxxx_

It hits him squarely in the stomach. Dean is avoiding him. Definitively. They always attend parties, or literally any social gathering, together. People see Cas and think Dean, they see Dean and think Cas. They’re backing each other up always. It leaves Cas’s mouth cold and tacky. But it also settles something in his gut, and he decides in that moment that he doesn’t need Dean beside him. 

-

Castiel drives himself to Charlie’s house at 8, with two bottles of vodka clinking on the seat beside him. He certainly isn’t planning on finishing them, but if he’s going to get through the night, he can’t be sober. The girls all squeal as he first walks in but then raise their eyebrows when they see the bottles dangling from his fingers.

“Damn, Cas, rough day at the office.” Charlie chuckles, and then frowns when she sees the face he makes.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But you  do want to drink about it, now there’s something we can get behind girls!” Jo cheers, clearly having already started on a bottle of wine. Charlie, however, turns contemplative, tilts her head to eye him up.

“Is this about your tiff with Dean?”

Cas actually stumbles on his way to a free corner of the bed, and there’s not even anything underfoot to try and blame it on, curse Charlie and her immaculate floor.

“He told you about that?” He asks raggedly, trying to determine whether that would be a good sign or an extremely bad one.

“Well, no.” She squints for a moment, “He didn’t actually say anything but he was acting off, and so were you. Plus since when has Dean ever chosen the boys over us?”

“Screw Dean, tonight, Cas, it’s all about you. You’re going to have the best night of your fucking life.” Jo has swaggered forward to prod a finger in his face, close enough that he goes cross eyed trying to look at it.

“He needs a few drinks in him before you start on the pep talks, hun.” Anna holds up a mollifying hand and managed to convince Jo to reseat herself, which is an miracle in itself, especially when she’s on her way to drunk. Anna had make a solid point about the drinks though and it’s with eagerness that Cas snags a plastic cup and pours a few fingers of spirit.

“Please tell me you aren’t drinking straight vodka all night Cas, because even  you will be unconscious.” Anna intones firmly from the opposite end of the bed. She’s got a glass of wine in one hand and an unidentified drink in the other but still manages an air of superiority.

“I was counting on Charlie having mixers.”

“It’s a good thing I know you well, pretty boy.” And then Charlie’s tossing him a bottle of lemonade, fielding a question from Anna on her plan of action with Gilda. If Dean were here, things probably wouldn’t be all that different, there’d still be trivial chatter but with a warm body at his side. The scent of Dean’s dumb cologne that he’s had for years and only wears for parties would hover in air. Maybe Dean’d knock an elbow into his side at something exceptionally ridiculous Charlie says, bite his lip as he holds back a laugh.

Except he isn’t here. There’s cool nothingness at his side and all he can smell is vodka lemonade and too sweet perfume. He takes a sip, swallows, takes a bigger gulp, refills. He makes the next one stronger and tunes back in just as Charlie is breaking down her strategy.

“Do we even know if she’s actually gay?” Anna, ever the voice of reason, chimes in.

“Okay so I don’t know  _for certain_ , but I mentioned I’m the LGBT club president and she was like ‘that’s so cool, I’ll have to come along to the next one.’”

“Well that’s good enough for me. Your gaydar is pretty in tune normally, Charles, so if you’re getting vibes, sparks must be flying.” Jo nods wisely.

“Fucking hope so, this ‘feelings’ business is taking its toll.”

Castiel can relate. He feels jerked in a million opposing directions, dragged inside himself and turned right out for the crows to pick at his heart. 

“Drink away the hurt, baby.” 

And they do, damn do they drink. Enough that it’s a blurring daze in the form of Charlie’s brother, that drives them to Bela’s house. Cas’ legs are heavy but his head’s weightless and he’s carried right through the front door on his grin alone. Anna’s tripping along under one arm and Charlie is tugging him by the other. Jo’s just skipping along in front of them all.

Bela’s house is enormous, would probably feel pretty gothic if it weren’t for the fairy lights dripping down every wall and booming speakers. Castiel smiles vacantly at any passing faces he recognises but let’s himself be pulled through into a kitchen, probably one of many. Jo hands him a drink and he throws it back without much thought. Buzzing pleasantly.

“What time are Dean and Victor coming?” Jo shouts over the music and like that Castiel’s buzz turns sour. He doesn’t care what time Dean’s coming or if Dean’s even coming at all. He doesn’t care about anything beyond the now. Beyond another drink.

He misses Charlie’s response as she pushes up on her tiptoes and deposits it right into Jo’s ear but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. Jo nods once, catches his eye and something in her expression changes. She stumbles forward, “We should find somewhere to dance.” And Castiel could not agree more.

There’s a crowded expansive room and when the lights catch right, the strangers around him become his friends, swaying, rocking. Anna’s grinding back against some faceless jock in a polo shirt. And Castiel doesn’t dance but he can move his body to music with some semblance of rhythm, and when Jo’s got his wrists and is coaxing his hips to match her sway, he can follow. Lose himself to the warmth of her as she laughs and slides a knee between his so they can dance closer. Charlie’s behind him, gripping his hips and sandwiching him in a slow grind.

There’s something exciting and dirty about it, a rush about how they must look, but they’re lost to the sea crowding them. People he half knows are offering him drinks, dancing beside them, someone pulls him into a spin. Anna loses the jock and bends to push herself back against Cas instead, and he meets her easily, feels powerful. Charlie returns before he even noticed her absence and she’s got Gilda in tow, hands shyly entwined. They dance tentatively at first but at some not so subtle shoves from Jo, they draw them closer.

Castiel has an unknown girl grinding back against him but she’s got wild dark hair and serpentine hips, smells like lemons. A couple crashes into them and when he looks it’s Charlie and Gilda, mouths locked. The girl twists to face him and her features blur restlessly, maybe familiarly, there’s red lips, smudged slightly and she uses the grip in his hair to pull him down and kiss his neck. Suction and a wet flash of tongue, scraped teeth. The almost oily residue of lipstick staining and dragging on his skin. He doesn’t desire her but there’s still warmth starting up in his gut when her teeth tease.

Maybe Jo’s been watching or maybe she’s just bored but she swings closer and in full view of the girl, fits her mouth to Cas’. Introduces her tongue. Kissing girls is easy; pleasant and thoughtless, there’s no nerves or adrenaline, just wet heat. Jo tastes sweet and she’s soft where Dean would be pushing harder, gripping his jaw and angling it just how he wants. Dean would be bumping teeth with his eagerness, pressing his thumb to the hollow of Cas’ throat with an almost pressure that turns him giddy.

A wave of nausea and something else he doesn’t have the cognition to decipher washes over him, has him pulling back from Jo, from the dark haired girl. Makes him stumble and weave in the direction of the kitchen. His lips tingling and hot. 

It’s brighter in the kitchen and a familiar dark face swings into view.

“Shit Cas, you’ve been getting some tonight. Even time I’ve seen you, a different girl is on you,” Victor laughs, teeth bright and reflective. “Pity you don’t even swing that way.”

“You’re welcome to them.” Cas mumbles back but he’s distracted because if Victor’s been here for a while, so has-

“Save some for the rest of us next time, stud.” A voice rumbles from his left, tone neutral but eyes shuttered when Cas meets them. Dean’s wearing the dumb cologne and smells like liquor. Sways on his feet. Cheeks flushed.

“You’re drunk.”

“So’re you.” Dean snorts unkindly, “You’re fucking smashed if you’re grinding with the girls.”

“They grind on me.”

“And you let them.”

“Is that a problem?” Cas grits out, matches the hard edge in Dean’s eyes.

“...Uh guys, lets chill it maybe. Everyone’s kinda drunk so-“ Victor is looking between them confusedly but Dean snorts and turns away before he can finish. Pushes roughly past the people blocking the door. The line of his shoulders disappearing around a corner.

“Well, what the hell was that about?” Victor wonders aloud, mostly to himself since Castiel had already turned away and was pouring himself another drink, more vodka than lemonade. Downs it in two gulps. 

He doesn’t want to think about Dean and who’s in the wrong and what he should’ve said, he doesn’t want to care.

“You good, Cas?”

Cas swallows thickly and doesn’t meet Victor’s eye. “Peachy.” 

And with that, he stumbles back to find Charlie, or Jo or anyone really. There’s a horrible tightness building in chest, pressing on his lungs and what he needs is to forget, but every shape he passes looks just tall enough, or has the same jaw in the half light, or laughs just like him and Castiel can’t escape. 

It’s all the more awful because he wants to go to Dean, his best friend. Flop onto his shoulder and ease into the arm that wraps around him and the calming words against his ear. His safe place. 

And suddenly he doesn’t even care about who’s right. He cares about Dean, about keeping him in his life.

With barely a thought for the people he’s bumping into, Cas spins and makes for the doorway he lost Dean through. Passes through a glass conservatory, air smoggy and thick with dope, and onto a patio. The moon is mostly choked with cloud but still lends just enough light to see the shapes of people milling about. They’re crowded together, watching something, and Castiel stumbles closer.

There’s two guys who appear to be squaring up. One is shouting obscenities, leering in close before circling round and when he shifts and a patch of light catches him just right, Castiel recognises him as Gordon. Opposite Cas, is Bela herself, furiously trying to get Gordon to leave but being ignored in favour of his taunting. The other guy shoves at Gordon and immediately Cas knows it’s Dean.

“You gonna fight me, pretty boy. Dumb bitch like you even know how to throw a punch?” Gordon jeers, jaw jutted out, all cocky bravado and idiocy.

“Oh I’ll fucking fight you Gordon, I’ve been waiting months for this.”

“Yeah? Thought your boyfriend didn’t like that, and you’re a real suck up for him.”

Dean grinds his teeth at that and jerks forward as if to swing but Gordon drops back out of reach with a smirk.

“Alright settle down, I won’t talk shit about your boyfriend. Just one last question then... who fucks who? Because I’m getting real princess vibes from you, sweetheart.” And Gordon barely manages to tack an ugly sneer on the end before Dean’s fist is colliding with his jaw. Enough force balled up behind it that he’s sent stumbling backwards.

There’s a delighted cheer from his drunk comrades and Bela starts shouting but Dean’s just rocking on his heels, in the middle, looking dazed.His eyes move hazily around and settle on Cas’ with slow recognition. He’s tripped closer within one blink on the next.

There’s an energy in that look, a naked emotion that paints itself down his body boldly. 

Behind him, Gordon is sitting up from where he landed, eyeing them with a dangerous look.

“We should go, Dean. Inside now.” Castiel urges and then grabs for his wrist when Dean just blinks. He pulls them inside roughly, past the crowds, and the dope and the endless clusters of people blocking every doorway. Dean stumbles along behind him at first but eventually finds his footing and even lays a warm palm against Castiel’s back.

It’s a maze but his hand finds a bannister and he’s pulling them up a dark staircase. Feet slipping and bodies bumping. Dean’s still breathing a little heavily, jittery with lingering adrenaline. The first door is locked but the second swings open and they shutter themselves away, stare at the other in the dim moonlight of the open windows.

“I punched Gordon.”

“Yeah you fucking did.”

“I’m sorr-“ Dean starts before his mouth is smushed shut as Castiel kisses him.


End file.
